The Mandate of Heaven
by AlanSchezar
Summary: A divine vision sets a young squire on the path of his destiny, to a far off land of intrigue and war. Gifted by the light, he faces his first true challenge in the form of a shadow of the past. The story of the formation of The Mandate of Heaven, my guild from World of Warcraft, started in Beta. Dedicated to Grindy, Blacktear, and the rest.
1. The Vision and the Long Journey

**Of the Ancient Beginning**

In ages past, far across the great sea in the distant lands of the Elmordean Empire, a great cataclysm came upon the land. The vile taint of evil and corruption spread across the world, polluting and capturing the minds of the great Lords, and some said even of the Emperor himself. This malign influence, stemming from the dark and arcane mystical experiments of a mad sorcerer named Beleth, threatened to engulf the land in eternal darkness, and it would have, save for a handful of heroes.

Inspired by a divine visitation, the knight Sir Kaden of the Iron Will, together with his comrade the high-born elf knight Grindrolas, forged an alliance of a handful of warriors and mystics from the various races of the continent. Human, Elf, Dwarf, even Dark Elf and Orc rallied to the call of Sir Kaden, and together these few heroes forged a blood pledge to oppose the corruption of Beleth, even unto their deaths. Together they traveled to the great holy city of Aden, and with the aid of the High Priests at the cathedral, they cemented their vows with the forging of a great Steel Cross, an anointed holy symbol of their unshakable will to triumph over Beleth's evil. Thus, The Steel Cross Brotherhood was formed. It was also at this time that Kaden was given a second vision, and that he ventured into the tainted swamps on a holy quest to become a Paladin. Newly strengthened with holy power, Kaden took up the Steel Cross and led his brothers on a crusade against Beleth. Together, the warriors chased the devilish sorcerer from one side of the continent to the other, battling his demons and undead minions at every turn, banishing them one by one back to the depths of Hell.

Finally, in the barren wastes on the southwest edge of the continent, the Paladin and his Brotherhood trapped Beleth and destroyed his minions. Though it ultimately cost him his life, Kaden used the holy power of the Steel Cross to smite Beleth down and place a righteous seal upon him, forever chaining his darkness deep beneath the land decimated by his profane magics.

**The Vision and the Long Journey**

Centuries later, the blood pledge of the Steel Cross Brotherhood endured, known throughout the land as a pillar of truth and justice in a corrupt epoch. Led by the immortal elf Grindrolas, who took up the mantle after his beloved friend Kaden fell defeating Beleth, the Steel Cross Brotherhood fought many harrowing battles against many a deadly and demonic foe. One day, Paladin Alan Schezar, the second in command of the Brotherhood, was traveling through the mountains on his way home from battle, and came upon a cabin that was under attack by foul lesser orcs. Charging in fearlessly, the Paladin slew the orcs, but he was too late to save the family who were massacred by the monsters. Miraculously, he found that the peasant's young son was still alive, cowering under the porch of his family's home in terror. The Paladin took the boy, who would not speak, with him to a remote Abbey in the mountains, where the Monks tended the boy's wounds, and tried to comfort him and mend his tortured soul.

Paladin Schezar saw in the boy two possibilities; the potential for greatness, and the potential for infamy, and he wished to prevent the boy from being corrupted by the rage and pain he felt over his family's murder. Taking the boy under his wing, the Paladin taught him the ways of righteousness, and of the sword, teaching him to call upon the agony and wrath he harbored deep within his soul and channel it toward the unwavering pursuit of justice.

The boy, who eventually revealed that his name was Sieghardt, grew strong and upright under the Paladin's teaching, and at the age of sixteen, he was prepared to take up the mantle of the knight, as Alan had done before him. It was on the night that he was to take the vows of a knight that he had a great vision of a far away land, a world split in half, and beset by a foul invasion of demonic hordes. He saw the world plagued by undeath, beset with treachery and deceit, and ravaged by ceaseless warfare. An avenging angel appeared to him wreathed in light and treading a path of fire. In one hand he held a sword, and in the other a great white shield emblazoned with a crimson cross. In a voice that seemed to shake the foundations of the world, the angel commanded him to go forth and bring righteous vengeance against the wicked creatures that plagued the distant land. Charging him with what he called _The Mandate of Heaven_, the angel with the thunderous voice empowered Sieghardt with the ability to heal and to call upon holy power in battle. Sieghardt trembled at the terrible power of the vision, and when he had recovered he fled at once to his mentor Alan, telling him of the prophecy.

Though grieved to lose his beloved student and friend, Alan knew that this vision was the work of divine providence, and he at once made preparations for Sieghardt to set out to sea. As he stood at the docks, clad in his shimmering armour, his shield on his arm and his sword slung on his belt, Alan smiled to his young apprentice and said,

"Sieghardt, though you will never again return to these shores, know that you are and will always be a true Brother of the Steel Cross. Let it always be a symbol to you of your duty and your commitment to what is good and right. Now speak the creed, Brother of the Steel Cross, and hold it fast in your heart."

Sieghardt knelt down before his master, drawing his sword and setting the tip on the dock as he grasped the hilt with both of his faintly trembling hands,

_Yea though I have dwelt in darkness, __  
__Deliver me into the light.  
Let only truths pass my lips, __  
__Let my blade rise up in righteous vengeance against the wicked __  
__And bring justice and mercy to the innocent. __  
__Let my feet stray not from the paths of righteousness __  
__Let my heart be not afraid in the face of evil  
__What is dark in me illumine, what is low raise up __  
__That I may become a holy shield and righteous sword, __  
__The vengeful striking hammer of justice! __  
__Until the long night is ended, and dawn shines eternal _

_Veritas, __  
__Aquitas, __  
__Fidelitas, __Amen_

With that, the young boy set out to sea, blindly into the unknown, in pursuit of his destiny. Through days and in and out of weeks, months, and over five years, Sieghardt traveled the uncharted waters and islands of the world. His journey was harrowing and fraught with danger, until finally he was shipwrecked, the only survivor of the ship's crew, on a long sandy beach. Unknown to him, he was found by local militiamen and spirited away to Northshire Abbey, where the Paladins of the Order of the Silver Hand tended his wounds until he finally awakened and told them all of his long journey, and of the great vision that brought him to their lands. The Paladins told him that he had landed on a continent known as Azeroth, in the human kingdom of Stormwind. Immediately, Sieghardt set out to prove himself as a warrior of the Light, and to carry out the duty he was given.


	2. The Lazarus Tear

**The Lazarus Tear**

The snow swirled fervently, stirred by an ill wind that blew from the north. The young Night Elf was not accustomed to such bitter, biting chill, but still he persisted. The Seers had been given a prophecy of a fearsome evil befalling Azeroth, a vision of a vile scourge of darkness that cast its shadow from the roof of the world. Charged with investigating the apocalyptic visions of the Seers by Malfurion Stormrage himself, the novice was determined that nothing would stop him.

For weeks he journeyed northward through the lands of Lordaeron, being careful not to be seen by the primitive but prolific humans who populated the kingdom, until he came to the snowy reaches of the north. At last he came to the Great Forest, a mysterious and sacred glade that his people spoke of in legends. As he entered, his senses alerted him; a pall of evil hung thick in the air, dampening the forest with a sort of dimness, a silence that was wholly unnatural.

Calling upon all his skills in stealth and perception, the young scout crept silently through the wood until he came upon a great stone tower. To his horror he saw from his hiding place the walking corpses of many humans, their dead eyes staring blindly forward as they moved like so many marionettes, their strings pulled by some unseen devilry. He had heard tales of the walking dead, whispers brought by travellers and adventurers that probed the dark places of the world, but he had never seen their like before. Always in the tales, the living dead were said to be mindless, pitiful creatures bound to unlife by some unhappy fate, some bitterness that would not let them rest, leaving them to wander aimlessly in lament. But these undead were different; their movements were coordinated, disciplined, driven. They moved with the honed precision of an army, as if commanded by some unseen hand. As the sun sank behind him, the Night Elf hid in the shadows of the forest, waiting for his opportunity.

Creeping past the guards under the cover of night, the young scout sneaked into the tower. He made his way up the stairs to a chamber at the top of the winding stone steps. Inside, he found a Necromancer's laboratory, strewn with bones, bubbling potions, tomes of dark magic and various other arcane equipment. On the floor was a demonic circle painted in blood, and under the window stood a small writing desk with papers strewn over its surface.

As he leafed through the papers, the dread clutching at the scout's heart grew; the letters were communication between someone named Kel'Thuzad and members of "The Cult of the Damned", some kind of underground heretical group that planned to unleash a "plague" on the unsuspecting people of Lordaeron. It did not stop there; the plans for this plague spread much further, to the other kingdoms of Azeroth, and even to Kalimdor. Snatching up the papers, the scout jammed them into his pack and fled back down the steps. Terror gripped his heart as he dashed back toward the forest. Just as he entered the woods, however, a sentry on the tower spotted him and sounded the alarm. The elf ran for his life, his legs pumping like never before; his face was whipped with branches and his flesh torn by thorns as he crashed through the brush, but he would not stop; he could not stop, as the fate of every living thing in the world might hang in the balance.

Knowing they could never catch a night elf once he had entered the forest, the undead devised another, cunning, and utterly wicked plan. They called forth their mages who summoned a raging firestorm to consume the forest and the scout in a pitiless inferno. The scout's brief but agonized screams were swallowed up by the roar of the all consuming flames.

There was in that land a Great Spirit of nature known as the Weeping Willow. A guardian and life bringing dryad, the Weeping Willow wandered the land, weeping for joy or for sorrow at the beauty of life and the sadness of its loss, his magical tears bestowing the blessing of life on whatever ground they should fall upon. Eventually his travels brought the ancient Willow to the smouldering remains of the great forest, and when he saw the terrible destruction of the once magnificent land, a feeling of bitterness and rage began to build in his heart. He wandered the forest, surrounded by the senseless devastation, and his rage and grief grew. As the rage grew, the tears stopped, until finally the spirit came to the charred corpse of the scout. He saw the disembodied spirit of the scout, still clinging to its destroyed body, howling with rage and defiance against its death. Time and again the spirit tried to force its burnt body to live, and time and again it suffered its inglorious, agonizing death. Seeing this was too much for the Willow, and he unleashed a roar of pure, undiluted fury. The Willow shed a single black tear, darker than the darkest night, which fell onto the corpse of the scout. The power of the black tear gave the Night Elf a new life and bound him to a new will; the will for vengeance.

As the pale moon looked on, "Blacktear" returned to the tower of the undead, and one by one he slaughtered them, until the walking dead moved no more. Even a living corpse cannot stand to stare into the cold, pitiless eyes of death itself.


	3. The Message

**The Message**

Weeks later, whisperings of the unrest in Lordaeron had begun to trickle in to the Night Elves hidden sanctuary, sending ripples of uneasiness through the populace. Late one night as the full light of the pale moons streamed through the canopy of the forest, Malfurion Stormrage brooded over the strange feeling of foreboding that gripped his heart. It was as if the very smell of death itself hung in the air. Heaving a deep sigh, he leaned on the railing of his balcony, gazing up at the broad face of the primary moon, lost in contemplation as if trying to probe that distant light for the answers he sought. As he stood there silently, a chill wind blew past his face, rustling through the drapery and his long hair. The wind seemed to carry with it a voice that echoed from the shadows all around him, speaking his name.

"Malfurion Stormrage…."

It wasn't until the voice spoke again that Malfurion answered aloud, turning to question the inky shadows of his home, "Who's there?"

"I come with a report, Master Stormrage," said a gravely voice from the shadows.

Stormrage blinked in surprise, finding he was unable to penetrate the darkness even with his considerable night vision. The voice seemed somehow familiar, yet foreign at the same time. "Speak, messenger."

"I bring news of Lordaeron, Stormrage. A plague of undeath spreads from the north, and a monumental doom awaits not just them, but this entire world if nothing is done to stop it. You have been warned, master of the Night Elves."

The shock of realization struck Malfurion and he reached out, peering into the darkness as he began to discern a cloaked and hooded figure standing by his door, its face masked by impenetrable darkness, "You're…I sent you to the north-lands! But that's impossible, you…"

"_Died?_" the voice cut in tersely, "Yes, quite right Master Stormrage, I have been dead."

"I…don't understand…you're alive now, are you not? I sense no sorcery in your presence, only…"

"Look to see me no more."

With that, the shadowy figure vanished and Stormrage was left alone again with his troubled thoughts and the cool evening breeze.


	4. Darkness and Light

**Darkness and Light**

"It feels much better, Mister Paladin!" the little girl said, grinning widely and revealing the gap where she was missing her front tooth. Sieghardt smiled, "Just hold still a moment longer, okay?"

His hand hovered over her scraped knee, which was slowly beginning to heal as it was bathed in the divine light emanating from the Paladin's palm. After a moment, the wound was completely gone, leaving unbroken skin and a bit of blood and dirt. Sieghardt wiped it clean with a handkerchief and stood up, "There, good as new."

The little girl jumped up and hugged his leg, then ran off to join her friends who were romping through the woods around Goldshire. Sieghardt had just returned after battling the savage Murlocs that inhabited the lake to the east, and it was time for a drink. Wearily, he made his way into the Lion's Pride Inn. The autumn weather was beginning to turn, and a light rain began to fall as he stepped inside and flopped himself into his usual chair by the fireplace, setting his small shield down against the wall.

The Inn wasn't as busy as usual; only a few tables were occupied. Nearby, a pair of men spoke in hushed tones, but loud enough for Sieghardt to hear:

"Tomorrow night's the night, aye?"

"It is…the Black Ghost be wanderin' the roads. The weather be an ill omen, mark me…"

"What is it? I mean, where did he come from, aye?"

"Donno. An' I don't be thinkin' I _want_ to know..."

Sieghardt stood up, moving to the table where the two men sat in conversation, "Excuse me," he said, bowing graciously, "Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I couldn't help but overhear you speaking of a ghost. Perhaps you could tell me more."

The first man, an elderly fellow with a gnarled walking stick, peered up at Sieghardt from behind his wire rimmed spectacles, "Why would you want to know?"

The Paladin bowed slightly again, "Forgive my rudeness. I am Paladin Sieghardt, initiate of the Silver Hand."

The two men blinked in surprise. "A Paladin, eh?" said the second, younger man, "Well heed this, my young lad, tougher fellas than you seem to be have gone out adventuring after the Black Ghost and never been heard from again. You'd do best just to stay out of his way."

Sieghardt smiled slightly, "I appreciate your concern, Sir, but I am a Paladin. My mission is to do battle with ghosts, demons and all manner of undead. I cannot turn away from this wandering spirit."

The two men looked at each other, exchanging incredulous glances. The old man adjusted his spectacles, pressing them up the bridge of his nose, and looked Sieghardt up and down. At length he nodded, "Alright then. If you want to see the Black Ghost, head out east down the road to Lakeshire tomorrow night. That's where you'll find him…or he'll find you."

Sieghardt bowed again, "Thank you, gentlemen. May the Light bless you both." With that, he turned and grabbed his shield, heading straight out the door. He returned to the abbey, saying nothing of his conversation at the Lion's Pride to his master, and proceeded to his cell to pray and steel himself for what was to come. A sleepless night passed, followed by another gray, sunless, rain drenched day spent in prayer and meditation. Finally, the baying of wolves in Elwynn Forest heralded the setting of the cloud dimmed sun and the onset of the night of the Black Ghost.

Braving the howling winds and driving rain, Sieghardt set out with the simple armour given to him by the Silver Hand, and the only thing he still possessed from his old life: his father's smithing hammer. As he came to the pass at the entrance to the Redridge Mountains, he saw a dark figure coming toward him on the road ahead. It was wreathed in darkness and dressed in a ragged, hooded cloak. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, visible from a pool of utter blackness under its hood. The figure moved in a slow, shambling manner, like an old, tired man. An aura of terrible power surrounded it, a feeling of pure indignation and bitterness.

Sieghardt was sure this must be the ghost that the villagers in Goldshire had whispered about. Standing his ground and gripping his hammer, Sieghardt waited for the creature to come closer before calling out in a commanding voice, "Spirit! In the name of the Light, I command you to speak! Tell me your name!"

The figure stopped, but said nothing, merely stared through the storm with its glowing red eyes. Sieghardt was puzzled, but spoke again, "I command you, wandering spirit, in the name of the most Righteous and Holy Light, _to speak your name!_"

"My name…" the figure began, its voice slow and hoarse, "what name…dead and gone…nobody remembers. No name for me…no use."

Sieghardt knew that in order to exorcise a spirit, one must first command it to speak and call it by its proper name. He knew that it was impossible for a spirit to resist an adjuration in the name of the Light, yet this supposed spirit refused. He began to suspect there was far more to this story than he realized, and he stepped closer, "Then tell me, what are you, and where do you come from?"

"Death, hate, nothing…I am a shadow," the dark figure mumbled as Sieghardt drew nearer, "I am…._vengeance!_" The last word was sharp and piercing, punctuated by a slash of the creature's claws. Sieghardt jumped back, narrowly missing having his throat slashed. He raised his hammer, but the figure had already kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sailing backwards into a tree.

The young Paladin grunted in pain as he slammed into the tree and dropped to his knees. He barely had time to draw a breath before the creature was on him again with lightning speed, slashing clean through the tree with a swath of black energy.

Rolling to the side, Sieghardt came up with a hard swing of his hammer, catching the figure on its chin. Its head snapped back and it stumbled from the blow, but it quickly recovered as Sieghardt struck out for another hit. The hammer grazed its face and caught on the ragged cloth of its hood, ripping the old fabric from its head. Two long, slender ears and a tangled mess of long white hair poured out from the tattered hood, and Sieghardt blinked in amazement. It was no ghost he was fighting, but a living night elf.

The night elf roared in fury, smacking the hammer from Sieghardt's hand and grabbing him around the throat, his visage twisted with rage. He lifted the Paladin off the ground and stared into his eyes, choking Sieghardt with incredible strength, "NONE SHALL LOOK UPON ME!" he screamed. The eyes of the night elf burned red with an otherworldly power, as if that gaze alone threatened to steal the life from any being unfortunate enough to look upon them.

Sieghardt could feel the life being forced out of him, and in desperation he raised his fist, calling out to the heavens, "LIGHT, BE MY STRENGTH TO SMITE THIS DARKNESS!"

A blinding flash of light gathered around Sieghardt's fist and he brought it crashing down into the night elf's face. The elf roared in pain and was slammed onto the ground by tremendous force. Sieghardt fell to his knees, coughing and gasping for air. He was astonished at the incredible force he felt flowing through him when he struck the night elf down, a power he had never felt before. Quickly gathering up his smithing hammer, he raised it above his head, prepared to brain the night elf and kill him, but he stopped short at what he saw.

The night elf was on his knees in the pouring rain, staring up at the veiled moon with his hands outstretched before him. He was mumbling incoherently, a look of pure agony on his face. "_Lost…light…_" was all Sieghardt could discern from the elf's tortured ramblings.

Sieghardt hesitated; he wanted to strike down the dark elf with a single blow, crush the dark power that resonated from him, yet something stayed his hand. Lowering his hammer, the wounded Paladin backed away, then turned and hurried through the woods back to the Abbey.

Exhausted, Sieghardt stumbled through the door of the abbey and fell to his knees, his hammer and shield clattering on the stone floor. He panted for breath, the rainwater dripping off him and forming little pools on the cold marble tiles. The nightmarish visage of the night elf burned in his mind; he blinked to cleanse it from his thoughts, trying to gather himself again after the harrowing battle.

"Sieghardt?"

The voice of his master, Brother Samuel, broke into his thoughts and Sieghardt looked up to see Samuel standing in a nearby doorway. The elder Paladin knelt beside his student, "Are you alright, Sieghardt? You're drenched to the bone and you look pale…where have you been at this hour? Nevermind, lets get you warm first." Samuel helped his student in to sit by the fire, and there Sieghardt recounted the entire tale, and the alarming discovery that the infamous Black Ghost was no ghost at all, but a night elf. Samuel listened intently, his initial anger at his student's recklessness giving way to captivation at the discovery of the ghost's secret.

After the story was finished, Samuel sat a long time in silence, watching the dancing flames as if in meditation. After a time, he entered the library and came back a while later with a dusty, leather bound book. Sitting down, he opened it and began to leaf through the pages. "Aha! I knew it."

Sieghardt regarded his teacher with curiosity. "What is it, sir?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Samuel skimmed over the page for a moment longer, and then looked up at Sieghardt, "Your story reminded me of an incident that happened just before the plague…it is a strange tale that was recounted to me by a night elf acquaintance of mine, who is a friend of Malfurion Stormrage."

Sieghardt raised an eyebrow at the mention of such an illustrious member of the night elf race, but remained silent as he listened. Samuel continued, "It seems that before the Plague was unleashed on Lordaeron, the Night Elves already suspected some evil was coming over the world, and Malfurion sent a young scout to investigate the northern edges of the kingdom. Well, that scout never returned, and the follow up scouts they sent found that the Great Forest had been wiped out by a firestorm. On the northern edge they found a burned out tower littered with inanimate undead…the creatures had be ripped apart, their heads smashed…destroyed. Some weeks later, Malfurion got a visit from someone he swears was that same young scout he sent to investigate, yet he wasn't himself anymore, and he claimed that he 'had been dead' before…"

Sieghardt furrowed his brow slightly, stroking his black goatee, "So…he was plagued and turned by the undead? He became a ghoul?"

Samuel shook his head, "No. Malfurion would have destroyed him immediately if that had been the case…no this young fellow had become something entirely different…something that shook up old Malfurion."

Sieghardt nodded, "If indeed the 'Black Ghost' and this dead scout are one in the same, I should have been able to sense him if he was undead…I may be somewhat novice, but I know undead when I see them, and he wasn't. But then the question remains, what happened to him?"

Samuel closed the journal and set it aside, leaning back in his chair, "I don't know…perhaps those eyes of his have something to do with it…they don't sound like the eyes of any night elf I've ever seen."

"I must pray about this…I must help him." Sieghardt rushed from the room, leaving his master behind.

The elder Paladin let out a chuckle. "I knew you would be trouble the second I laid eyes on you, my young friend…" he mumbled under his breath, suppressing a smile as he got up and headed for bed.

Sieghardt found no sleep that night; he dashed to the abbey library and began searching through volumes of ancient lore, seeking desperately for some clue as to what afflicted the mysterious night elf. As the hours ticked away, more and more books piled up on the table, and Sieghardt became more and more frustrated; there was nothing like this strange case in any of the books of lore. Even some of the more arcane books on sorcery and witchcraft and how to combat them, said nothing about it. In exasperation, Sieghardt slammed the last book closed and threw it down on the table. Getting up from his chair he climbed the stairs to the balcony, pushing open the French doors and leaning on the stone railing. He heaved an exasperated sigh and looked up at the night sky.

The moon was full, and the rain had stopped. The pale light flooded the Northshire Valley, casting everything in a glistening shimmer. The Paladin turned his eyes to the moon in contemplation, wondering if perhaps this "Elune" the Night Elves claimed was their goddess held some answer for him. He examined the moon's pale light for a while before a black cloud began to creep across its face. After a moment, the moon was obscured by the darkness, and the valley was plunged into black shadow once again.

Sieghardt started back suddenly as a realization struck him; as the moon had been darkened by the cloud, so was the elf's sight clouded by darkness. His eyes were the key to the maddening power that had overtaken him; _that had to be it!_ Even Samuel had said that his eyes were not those of a normal night elf. Sieghardt nearly jumped in elation at his epiphany, knowing that he was close to finding a solution. Dashing down the steps with all haste, he grabbed his cloak and set out down the road toward Stormwind.

A thousand thoughts and images seemed to be swirling in his mind as he walked along the canals. Sieghardt knew that the eyes were the key, but what to do about it? He remembered the night elf saying something about light…being lost? The elf it seemed had descended into some dark place where there was no light; a prison inside his own mind perhaps. Sieghardt stroked his goatee, wracking his brain as he tried to puzzle out the mystery of the so called Black Ghost.

"Watch where you're walking, me lad!"

Sieghardt was startled out of his thoughts by a voice coming from the alleyway beside him. He stopped suddenly and looked over to see an old man sitting on a barrel and leaning against the stone wall. In one hand the man held a long, gnarled staff, and in the other he held a beaten and dented tin cup. His features were weathered and his clothes were ratty and torn. A blindfold covered his eyes. Sieghardt blinked at him, "What..? What do you mean?"

The old man gestured with his stick, pointing to a small crate that was partially blocking the path, "You'd have taken quite the tumble if you'd kept on walking along like that, not paying attention…heh. Something on your mind, I bet. Why don't you tell old Jack, eh?"

Sieghardt was astonished; he furrowed his brow, looking at the crate, then at the old man, "How did you know I was about to trip on it? And what gave you the idea I had something on my mind?"

"Sometimes the sighted man is blind to what's before his eyes, while the blind man is the one who truly sees," said the old blind beggar, a sly, knowing grin creeping across his weathered face.

"_Of course!_" Sieghardt exclaimed, struck with realization.

"Told you ol' Jack could help you out. Heheh."

"Thank you!" said the Paladin, hastily dropping a few silver coins into Jack's cup as he dashed on his way down the road.

Jack rattled his cup and grinned, leaning back up against his wall.

The answer was so simple; a blindfold! What better thing to bind the power of the eyes? Sieghardt dashed through the night, heading straight for the Cathedral. He knew just the thing to fashion a blindfold powerful enough to bind the dark power of the night elf; a death shroud of a martyred saint was being housed in Stormwind Cathedral, and only a small piece of the shroud would be needed.

Sneaking inside quietly, Sieghardt hid in the shadows behind a pillar, ensuring the darkened cathedral was truly empty before creeping out and moving along the wall to the chapel where the reliquary was housed. He stopped before the gilded box and sunk to his knees, crossing himself and whispering, "Forgive me for this transgression, blessed Saint, but a wretched soul has need of your shroud. Please grant me the use of its Holy power that I might bring him to the Light again."

Opening the velvet lined box, Sieghardt found an old, stained linen cloth. The faint spatters of the blood of the martyred saint could still be seen on it. The Paladin stopped for a moment as he gazed at the thin sheet; this was the legacy of one who had made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of faith, the fate of so many servants of the Light, a fate that might one day befall him. In that moment, Sieghardt understood his destiny; he must devote every fiber of his being, his very soul to the cause of righteousness and justice. He knew well the story of Kaden and Grindrolas, and the Steel Cross, but now he truly understood what it meant to be a Paladin and servant of the Light. Hastily, he cut a strip from the shroud and carefully replaced the remainder, folding it so as to hide the cut edge. Taking the shroud to the altar, he laid it out flat and withdrew a small bag of pure salt from his satchel. Sprinkling the salt so as to form a thin circle around the fabric, he marked it with holy runes at the cardinal points. Taking out a vial of holy water, he sprinkled it over the shroud, "In the name of the Light, bless this holy relic, that it may have all power to bind darkness and expose the light of truth. Let he who once was blind now see the truth and repent."

Carefully, he folded up the blessed blindfold and tucked it into his satchel along with the holy water and bag of salt. Quickly blowing the ring of salt away, Sieghardt turned and dashed from the Cathedral and through the streets of Stormwind. The rain had begun to pelt down on the slick streets again, but he paid no mind; he knew his mission, and nothing would stand in his way.


	5. Rebirth

**Rebirth**

The rain was still falling as the sun began to shine dimly through the gray clouded sky. Sieghardt returned to the place where he fought the elf and carefully tracked him through the woods to a cave in the foothills. The small, dank cave was pitch dark, the gloom pierced in places by shafts of the morning light coming through from cracks in the rocky ceiling. Sieghardt cautiously entered, moving through the shadows toward the echoes of the maniacal ramblings of the night elf.

When Sieghardt reached him, the night elf was crouched down in a shadowy corner, staring at a spot of light on the dirt floor of the cave. He was muttering to himself almost incoherently, "Gone…light…nothing left…no more…gone…" He did not acknowledge Sieghardt or even look at him when the Paladin stepped into the darkened chamber.

"Do you wish to return to the Light?"

"No light…none left…won't have it, can't go back…" mumbled the night elf, still talking as if he were the only one present.

"Hear me, night elf!" Sieghardt said forcefully, his booming voice echoing throughout the cave, "The repentant shall be forgiven; no darkness can withhold the power of light. You can become who you once were, but I cannot force it upon you…you must decide of your own free will, so make your choice!" With the last word, Sieghardt extended his hand, holding out the blindfold to the deranged night elf.

Finally, the night elf looked at Siegardt reluctantly, as if pained by his image but unable to look away. He stood and moved closer, staring silently at the blindfold for a long time. Slowly, he reached out and grasped the blindfold with both hands, raising it up. Placing it over his eyes, the night elf tied it behind his head, under the tangled mess of his long white hair.

Instantly the night elf's head snapped back, his body shivering. He fell to his knees, holding his head as if in agony. His head was wreathed in a brilliant glow for moment, and then the glow faded as he fell onto his hands and knees, panting softly. The cave fell silent save for the soft patter of the droplets shedding from Sieghardt and the elf and hitting the dry dust of the cave floor. "It is over…" said the elf in a low voice, "The madness and the power are gone…" He looked up to see Sieghardt's extended gauntlet. Taking the Paladin's hand, the elf got to his feet, looking as if he could see plainly despite being blindfolded, "…thank you, Paladin."

"Sieghardt is my name, my friend. And think nothing of it. Now, before we speak further, lets get out this blasted cave and get warm!" The Paladin grinned and turned, motioning for the elf to follow.


	6. The Mandate of Heaven

**The Mandate of Heaven**

The two companions passed a meal in relative silence as the night elf ate hungrily. Sieghardt could tell that he was starving, but was trying to hold himself back so as not to be offensive. When the elf had finished his meal, Sieghardt listened intently as he related the tale of his mission, his death, and his rebirth by the power of the Black Tear of the Weeping Willow. He told of how that burning lust for vengeance within him slowly drove him mad as he wandered the world alone, the terrible power that was only just placed under seal by Sieghardt's blindfold. When the elf had finished, Sieghardt nodded in understanding, then asked, "Well then my friend, what is your name?"

"I no longer have a name…it died with my old life."

Sieghardt puzzled a little then persisted, "Well, I can't just call you night elf all the time…how shall I address you?"

The night elf seemed to ponder this for a moment, then answered simply, "Blacktear."

Sieghardt nodded, "Very well, Blacktear…"

He was suddenly cut off by the night elf, "Why did you save me?"

Taken off guard, Sieghardt fumbled for an answer; finally he replied, "I sensed your pain…that you were not some malevolent evil, but an unfortunate soul…I empathized with you, I suppose."

"Pain? What can a youngling human know of pain?" Blacktear snapped, starting up from his seat suddenly, "I know pain you can't even imagine!"

Sieghardt's expression darkened and he stood up as well. He stared Blacktear down for a moment, then turned away, walking to the rain streaked window pane and gazing out at the gray and gloomy afternoon, "When I was a child, I lived with my family in a cabin…it was in a land far, far away from here…a world away it seems…" he began, his voice low and steady.

"One day, a band of low orc bandits attacked our home…My father, a simple blacksmith, tried to fend them off, to protect my mother and my brother and sister, but the orcs were merciless and relentless…they slaughtered my father, my mother…everyone…they did…" Sieghardt stopped short, his fist clenching unconsciously against the stone window frame, "…unspeakable things…to them. I saw everything from my hiding place, but I was helpless to do anything. I watched it all, as everything I had ever known or loved was murdered before my eyes. I would have been killed too, if not for a Paladin named Alan Schezar." Sieghardt turned his head away slightly, staring out the window.

Blacktear had nothing to say; he knew any words would be futile. He looked down at the table. Sieghardt turned back to him, "There were times I thought my soul would be swallowed up by the rage and hatred that burned inside me…if not for Alan, I would have been consumed by darkness, the way you were. But Alan Schezar taught me that evil is always a choice; that my pain and rage could be turned to a righteous cause, could be made to serve justice, not petty vengeance."

Blacktear looked up at him as Sieghardt continued, "It is the memory of my family that gives me strength, that drives me on, and I have dedicated everything I am to the eradication of evil, so that innocent people like them will not suffer the same fate."

"What can you do? Only one single man in a world so plagued with evil as this…"

"_I can fight!_ So long as I have breath I will fight to purge this world of the stain of wickedness forever! I came to this land from across the sea because I was given a holy vision…I saw the Horde, the plague, all of it, and I was commanded to sail to sea and come here, to bring something called The Mandate of Heaven against the evil plaguing this land…I did not understand it, but that didn't matter, because I have learned that faith is the greatest power any man can have."

"Faith is a luxury I cannot afford, Paladin…"

Sieghardt shook his head, "Faith allows us to see beyond what is, to what might be. You have immense power, Blacktear…why don't you join me in my mission? Can you really believe it's mere coincidence that this happened between us? Turn your power toward the right end and use it for a righteous cause."

Blacktear hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. He was amazed at the conviction in Sieghardt's voice, and somehow he felt that this kind of courage and conviction might actually lead to great things. Something deep within him told him that his destiny was entwined with this _Mandate of Heaven_ that Sieghardt spoke of.

"I pledge myself to your cause, Paladin Sieghardt. Even unto my death."

Together, Blacktear and Sieghardt entered into a blood pact, just as the fathers of the Steel Cross Brotherhood had done centuries before, and forged The Mandate of Heaven, a band of crusaders dedicated to the destruction of all that is evil, and bound in blood oath to the undying principles: Veritas, Aquitas, Fidelitas. Truth, Justice, Faithfulness.

The End


End file.
